


Roses and blood

by starletes



Series: Blood of the rich [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Based on Interview With The Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Bruce is 18, Character Turned Into Vampire, Death, Gore, Jeremiah Valeska vampire, Killing, Knives, Love/Hate, M/M, Not canon accurate, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Season 4 Ecco, Vampire AU, Vampires age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-09-19 17:31:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starletes/pseuds/starletes
Summary: "Boom boom boom… The thumping of Bruce’s heart reminds Jeremiah of his explosions. The fire in his heart, their both’s. He sucks greedily, ignoring the sounds Bruce was making. It was a mix of whimpers and moans, irregular breathing and his young heart beating. A beautiful melody that Jeremiah would listen to for the whole eternity if he could."A story about how Bruce Wayne was turned into a vampire and the problems he'll have to face.





	1. We Bleed The Same

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! First of all, I'd like to say that this work will be HIGHLY based on Interview with the vampire as I recently read the book and I'm obsessed. As well as True Blood, so expect some references!  
> I usually correct my works after a few days they are written so please be forgivable if you find any mistakes right now, I'll look through. Thank you, enjoy!

Jeremiah shifts his angle, smelling the aroma of red and white roses on the table which seemed to be freshly cut, the colour of dark green stems matched his hair and the bloom was a shade or two darker than his crimson lips. He cruelly but elegantly snapped one and put the flower in his breast pocket, adjusting it.

Bruce breathed in, breathed out, trying to maintain a normal amount of oxygen in his body, keep steady and calm through the increasing waves of nausea, trembling and tingles running through his body from the very tip of his fingers like electricity. 

He followed Jeremiah’s gracious moves, as his right leg softly landed on his left one and he crossed them, doing the same with his hands, positioning them on his knees. He held his gaze fixed on Bruce as if unable to look away, as if he was a piece of art in a museum. He revealed no emotion, made no sound other than those few intakes of air every 20 seconds, making Bruce uneasy as there was nothing less human than this lack of movement and emotion. 

“May I ask if you are doing this purposely?” Bruce finally speaks up, mirroring Jeremiah’s pose and crossing his legs. 

The sharp shaped eyebrow rises together with the tip of Jeremiah’s lip and something of a giggle escapes his mouth. 

“Are you saying that I’m charming?” 

“I’m saying that even though you are fully aware of my uneasiness and concern you keep this overly calm act. It’s disturbing.” Bruce waves his hand around, as if what he said or thought mattered. As if Jeremiah will ever change. As if he didn’t come here on his own will. 

“I am sorry if my attitude is offending you _Mister Wayne_ , but you can’t control everything. I can assure you, it’s not intentional.” Jeremiah says in his usual monotonic tone, eying Bruce’s black suit and shiny shoes, finally giving his eyes a break.

Bruce’s eyes widened at just how formal Jeremiah was. He thought he shouldn’t be surprised by now, but Jeremiah always found a way to make him startle. He reconsidered his own attitude. 

Bruce squirms in his seat, adjusting into a more comfortable position when he felt one of his leg getting numb.

“You can talk to me, Bruce. I see you are concerned, you must be scared, too. As clinical as I seem, if we are to do this, we must be open, don’t you think? Speak your mind.” Jeremiah gestures at him with his pale hand and Bruce’s mind freezes for a second. Where to begin? What to ask first? He cleared his throat and sighed.

“How does it work? What exactly happens? I want an elaborate explanation.” He demands, his voice straighter than before. 

“How does _what_ work, Bruce?” Jeremiah accents the third word, pretending to now know what Bruce means by it. It was so much more fun to tease him and play around than just be a fair person that Jeremiah is certainly not.

He watched Bruce’s facial expression change, as his forehead muscles tensed and formed wrinkles, his mind working intensively and trying to pick the right words. Jeremiah could almost feel the flow of his thoughts, waves of Bruce’s curiosity and fear tickling his skin and waking up his own emotions, locked somewhere beneath the neautral, steady surface of his. 

When Bruce didn’t answer Jeremiah just laughed playfully, teasing once more, “People tend to die when they lose a lot of blood, Bruce, but don’t you know that?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Jeremiah, don’t be silly. I mean the turning. I don’t know the term, the transformation, turning, _change_ , what happens?” Bruce ran out of words, awkwardly moving in his seat as he speaks. Jeremiah’s eyebrows rise as if he had no idea what Bruce was referring to.

“Well, how do I put this for you… We make an exchange. You give me your blood and I replace it with mine. Not quite replace, but since I mean to _intentionally_ turn you, a few drops and you are already more like me than human. You must be conscious and willing during the process.”

“And what if I’m not?”

“You die.”

Not that the idea of dying didn’t occur to Bruce before, but hearing Jeremiah say it in his slow, monotonic and soothing tone made his heart flip, his lungs inflating to get more air. 

“Don’t be afraid, I would never let that happen to you.” Jeremiah assures Bruce, noticing his shaky breathing. 

“And yet, you would sink your teeth into my throat at any given moment.” He points out, a nervous unintentional laugh escaping his lips. Jeremiah frowns.

“Now now, Bruce, isn't that what you came here for? In fact, I think you might find it a rather... pleasurable experience. It's very sensual.” Jeremiah smirks with his finger in the air. 

“I beg your pardon?” Bruce hesitates as he moves again, not being able to find a proper enough and comfortable at the same time posture.

“I didn’t drag you here against your will. Not that I wouldn’t taste your blue blood one day anyway, but knowing that you _want_ me to… Bruce, that makes it only better.” He smiles, accusing Bruce of masochism. 

His porcelain fingers gently wrap around the spiky stem of one of the roses, taking it out of the vase. A few drops of water drip on the carpet as well as Jeremiah’s shoes but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Graciously as always, Jeremiah stands up and takes a step towards Bruce’s seat, watching his confused face. He catches the move of his pupils, as they suddenly inflate and fill the whole eye, swallowing the beautiful mocha brown. For a sensitive creature like himself, human emotion is like a word, a whole phrase, if you will. Bruce could try all he wanted and Jeremiah would still smell the scent of his citrus perfume mixed with arousal, something that he could’t call fear, but rather excitement. It was beautiful to him, enticing, inviting. It made the tips of his fangs itch with lust. 

“Give me your hand.” Jeremiah asks politely. Bruce looks at him, something of a suspicion lighting up in his eyes, but he complies anyway. Jeremiah’s touch is light, soft, not firm and harsh as Bruce would expect. He guides his thumb to the rose and glances at Bruce before applying pressure on his finger and pressing the skin deep into a thorn, a stinging pain drawing out a hiss out of the boy. He felt himself flush as blood rushed quickly to his head at the embarrassing sound he let slip. 

Jeremiah lets the flower fall on Bruce’s dark pants while he licks off the price, sticking Bruces thumb into his cold, wet mouth. As gentle as he tried to be he couldn’t help the teeth that sharpened without his conscious permission. He used his canine to press out more blood, once more checking up on Bruce.

“Hm? Is it bad?” He inquires, his lips moving around Bruce’s finger.

“Ahh, no.” His words come out in a silent whisper that only Jeremiah could catch. 

“See? Most of fear is unfounded, needless. I can make this good for you if you let me. Tell me you are mine and I will give you the world.”

Bruce wasn’t religious, or at least he thought so. Either God doesn't exist or has abandoned Gotham a long time ago. Devil on the other hand, was working overtime. 

Was he going to give in?Hell knows he wanted to. Wanted to let go, let Jeremiah have him as the alternative was too much. He pictured himself in his hands, last drops of his blood trailing down the soft skin of his neck that Jeremiah would lick off gently. He’d kiss him, tell him it’s going to be okay, tell him just how good it’s going to feel.

“If you want me to kiss you, you can just ask.” Jeremiah giggles and Bruce doesn’t register the moan that escaped his lips even before they are pressed to Jeremiah’s. As Bruce flicks his tongue out, it immediately being sucked in by Jeremiah, he tastes the iron, his wet muscle hitting Jeremiah’s canines every now and then. 

Neither of them notice how they end up near a wall. Jeremiah's predatory instincts dominating and trapping Bruce with his hands by the sides of his head. His lips curled into an honest, warming smile, different than his usual vicious one. Bruce didn’t want to be tricked and chose to think critically. 

“You are so beautiful, Bruce. From the moment I saw you I couldn’t throw the idea of tasting you out of my head, I knew you wouldn't be an easy one. My fighter. So strong, so young and stubborn.” Jeremiah soothes, his thumb on Bruce’s parted lips, his warm breath tickling Jeremiah’s skin. “Your heart is racing, what is troubling you?” 

“I’m scared, Jeremiah.” Bruce answers in a whisper. “I want to trust you. I want to give myself to you but I-”

“Say no more, love…” Jeremiah cuts him off with a passionate kiss that Bruce doesn’t fight, letting Jeremiah dominate. “Then do so. I promise to take a good care of you. Once you are like me, we will be one. There is nothing to fear.” Bruce sighs and it sounds more like a suppressed moan. His body was yearning for more, head swimming, blood boiling in excitement. “Come on, tell me you are mine. _Please_.” 

Never ever has Bruce heard Jeremiah so desperate for something. He may want Gotham on its knees, he may want Jim Gordon in a grave, he may want to be the king of Gotham, but all he really needs… is Bruce’s heart. 

“Take me Jeremiah.” Bruce whimpers, giving Jeremiah permission to do as he pleases. As if something was unlocked, Jeremiah felt a relief and so did Bruce. As if for the first time in his lifetime he breathed in fresh air, tasted cool water, _that_ was what it felt like. Dear freedom.

Jeremiah places a kiss on Bruce’s reddening cheek, then ghosting over the sensitive skin of his neck, locating the frantic pulse. He could feel every thump of the other’s heart, as if it was calling to him, begging to be freed. 

Bruce felt lightheaded, the nausea getting worse, trembling kicking in again. He didn’t feel the floor he was standing on, nor did he hear anything else than the wet sound of Jeremiah’s lips against his skin, enfolding his own. 

“Lean on me.” The man whispered breathlessly as he moved away from the wall, taking away Bruce’s only support. He wrapped his weakening hands tightly around Jeremiah, one on the back of his neck, the other feeling Jeremiah's shoulder blades. 

Awkwardly he tiled his head to the right, giving Jeremiah full access to his neck, the veins and blood, _his_ body. Jeremiah only titters and flicks out his tongue to lick the flesh, taste the pure human arousal, innocent and clean. Oh, he was going to stain it so badly, oh so badly. The beast inside him was growling, kicking and begging to be fed. Tear the young man's heart from his chest, hold his life in his hand, feel the rhythm of never ending pulse on his tongue. 

Jeremiah had to distract himself.

“Bruce, I want you to listen to me very carefully, tell me you understand.” He whispers in Bruce’s ear, holding his whole weight. Jeremiah doubted in Bruce’s ability to think clearly as he seemed rather lost in his emotions. However, he nodded. “Good. I want you to focus on your heartbeat. I need you to hear it as I do, imagine it growing louder, the opposite than it’s going to be when I’ll be draining you. You must stay conscious and alert for as long as possible, do you understand?” _Nod_. “When there comes the time to drink I want you to _drink_. You’ll try to fight it because you don’t have the taste for blood yet but remember that if you do, you’ll die a true, human death. There will be pain afterwards, you’ll want to scream, kick, attack me, but you mustn’t. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He checks again as he speaks the instructions. He might have failed the first time of bombing the city, but he can't fail _this_. 

His harsh, intimidating words were followed by a kiss that was quite opposite. But it was the last good and pleasant thing about this evening as Jeremiah let his canines join the party, dangerously hovering near Bruce’s vein. His body stiffens and he waits for the pain to come. Jeremiah pauses, as if pulling away for a second but then his teeth land on Bruce’s skin, or shall we say, _into_ his skin, breaking the soft layer. 

As red liquid pours from the wound, Jeremiah sucks the skin in, pressing Bruce's neck to his mouth harder. The royalty and strength of an equal, mesmerising pace of his pulse. 

_Boom boom boom…_ The thumping of Bruce’s heart reminds Jeremiah of his explosions. The fire in his heart, their both’s. He sucks greedily, ignoring the sounds Bruce was making. It was a mix of whimpers and moans, irregular breathing and his young heart beating. A beautiful melody that Jeremiah would listen for the whole eternity if he could. 

He pulls away for a second just to make sure Bruce is following the given instructions and is still alert. Jeremiah strokes his hair, brushing the curls away from Bruce’s forehead. He winces at the unexpected touch and Jeremiah gets back to work. 

There is no pain the second time, barely an almost pleasant aching. Naturally, the more time passed the more Bruce wanted to give in to the darkness that was calling to him, close his eyelids and fall asleep, let Jeremiah hold his unconscious, dying body. 

Thanks to the good God Jeremiah stops. Then says, “It’s time to drink my dear, remember what I said.” He reminds Bruce, before biting his own wrist carelessly, not noticing the the stain forming on his suit as blood sank into his clothes. He pressed his bloody wrist to Bruce’s lips. The boy tried to back away, he turned his head but Jeremiah forced his blood into his mouth, using his other hand to hold him in place. 

It wasn’t any more pleasant to watch Bruce suffer like this than actually experience the change himself, but he must. He watches the bob of Bruce’s Adam’s apple, as he unwillingly swallows Jeremiah’s cold blood that is already taking its effect on Bruce’s body. First he thought his slowed heartbeat was getting back to normal, as if he was rising from the dead, but instead ofstaying at a normal rate, it got faster and faster.

Finally, Jeremiah decided it was enough, he backed away and let Bruce’s desperate, weak body fall to the floor. It was done. 

_Now you only need to get through the change, Bruce, be strong._

_For me._

_Please._


	2. Fragility is beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Some things are only beautiful because they are temporary.” Jeremiah whispers feebly, his index finger moving in circles on Bruce’s covered chest.

Finally, Jeremiah decided it was enough, he backed away and let Bruce’s desperate, weak body fall to the floor. It was done.

He pressed his bleeding wrist to his chest, breathing heavily, experiencing blood loss together with his victim. No, it’s such a cruel word… _Companion_. Yes, that’s what it was. A companionship.

Bruce’s body laid completely still, his chest tensed as if it was held by an invisible force, suffocating him, waiting until the life fades out itself. His eyes were snapped open, wide, rolled back, looking into an abyss. He looked far from dead though, just more silent than a usual human being, a little paler as if caught lying. Jeremiah was sure he’d scream if he could but the blood may have caused full body paralysis. 

Bruce was yelling from inside, his eyes that seemed to be getting wider and wider and almost jump out of their orbits were digging into Jeremiah’s, begging for help. 

“ _Help me,_ ” they said,“ _Jeremiah please come here_!” 

Blood suddenly started pouring out of the helpless human’s nose, if you could call this immobile, stiff, messy piece of flesh and bone a human. Bruce looked more like a corpse already, his skin bleaching right in front of Jeremiah’s eyes, his teeth clenched, back arched up and head leant back, still waiting for support from his maker. You could almost think you were witnessing an exorcism. 

Jeremiah’s heart softened and he crawled towards Bruce, found his bony, tensed hand and took it into his, massaging it between his palms as if trying to warm it up. He kissed and caressed it softly as he murmured something under his breath. “Shhh, I know it hurts but you are strong. It’s for a better cause, think about the future, the freedom, the power and advantage you’ll have. My dark warrior. My Bruce.”

As Jeremiah spoke his name repeatedly in a praying manner, Bruce started choking for air, making gurgling wet sounds that made Jeremiah’s heart sink, he almost felt human again. Seeing Bruce in such pain woke up his conscience, his inner pureness that is hiding underneath the demonic look, somewhere deep in his very depths of his soul that weren’t stained by all the blood of the people he killed, the lives he claimed. Now Bruce was a part of it too, a part of _him_ and a part of _them_.

His life ended with Jeremiah holding his hand, breathing cold air onto his wet from the kisses skin, whispering his name intimately. Suddenly his back hit the floor, all the tension was released as his last and final human breath came out of his bleeding nose. He looked peaceful, relaxed, dreamy when his mind fell still, pain and suffering vanishing. There was nothing but black. Nothing. 

Romeo and Juliet weren’t this romantic.

________________

 

Jeremiah tried getting on with his life for the past two hours that Bruce was unconscious. Well, to be completely fair, _dead_. 

It wasn’t hard… Cleaning the blood from Bruce’s corpse, shutting his eyelids, moving him to his bed that he actually sleeps in and wrap him in a blanket that wouldn’t bring any warmth to his still body anyway. All of that seemed rather natural and even soothing. Like meditating. What was more worrying, was announcing the _pleasant_ news to Ecco. Even the thought of it would give Jeremiah migraine if he could have one. 

That woman hated Bruce with her whole being. Jeremiah’s friends means Ecco’s friends, you think, but no, oh no! The amount of enviousness she felt when she found out about Jeremiah becoming his maker was all over the place. She couldn’t quite demonstrate it in the quick phone call that Jeremiah dropped her. It went something like this;

“Hi darling, Bruce Wayne is dead and in my bed.” _Bleep_.

Ecco always wanted to be like Jeremiah, but that would defeat the purpose of her being here in the first place, which is connecting him to the outer world, assisting him, but most importantly - providing blood. He treated her as an equal even though she wasn’t even close to his level of intelligence. A funny thing it is, that Ecco is known to be his personal guard when really it’s the other way around. He gave her home, warmth, he cared for her for almost a decade and asked nothing but a pint of blood every now ant then in return. She was a true bomb when it came to his relationships and it was doubtfully out of honest concern. Not a secret that Ecco is ah… _sexually_ attracted to Jeremiah, not a secret that Jeremiah has a preference for men as well. His sexuality was a hard pill for her to swallow, as well as the fact that his _lover_ is now his equal! What a dilemma. 

Jeremiah sighed dramatically, throwing his phone away and not caring about where it lands. It probably crashes on the floor but he was already downstairs, stirring sugar in his black coffee, studying the reflection in the water. He can feel himself slowly losing his temper, usual balance being replaced with rage and viciousness, a wicked look forming on his face.

Ecco can come back yelling any minute, Bruce is probably going to wake up soon and oh dear, he has a meeting to attend which he will most likely have to cancel. _You didn't think ahead._ What a pleasant day it’s going to be, is it Christmas yet? He considers going out and tearing some poor guy’s throat apart with his fangs, maybe cutting the heart out and keeping it as a trophy after draining him dry, until his veins are empty and body nothing but a useless piece of meat. 

His watch is showing 5:23 a.m and even though he’d gladly close his eyes and meditate, he can’t fail his teacher role as his maker did. This is Bruce and it doesn’t matter just how much he’d like to ravish him and push his limits, hear him moan and beg for more of his touch, he must be gentle. At least for now. There will be time for passionate love talks later. He must slowly step into the world of pain and thirst, learn the basics of living amongst humans, eating, resisting, dealing with the limitless power. Jeremiah must not push him. Baby steps, Jeremiah, baby steps.

Jeremiah takes his coffee in one go before showering, using all possible soups and creams to wash off the blood as well as remove the stinking scent of death. It was rather offensive towards Bruce, but he’ll possible smell that too once he wakes up. Speaking of _the wake_ , Jeremiah thought ahead and already took care of a suitable meal for the boy, it was sad however that he won’t be able to taste some fresh hot blood right from a vein, that was something to consider as an attraction for this upcoming weekend. Ecco would hardly ever agree to donating hers to Bruce so now Jeremiah had another reason for a headache. 

He takes the B negative blood bag out of the freezer, hoping it would at least warm up to the room’s temperature by the time Bruce is thirsty. It was a rare blood type, a real delicacy for the ones like him, but luckily with the persuasive personality of his dear Ecco anything was accessible. 

The next moment he is slowly running his bony cold fingers over Bruce’s hair, fixing the mess that he himself made. He lets his hand rest on his still chest that used to sing for him once, every breath reminding Jeremiah of the beauty in his fragility.

“Some things are only beautiful because they are temporary.” Jeremiah whispers feebly, his index finger moving in circles on Bruce’s covered chest.

Something in the air moves. And it’s not a fly. 

“For once you said something I can agree to.” Bruce’s lips part and a weak, breaking voice escapes. As if waking up from narcosis, which he practically did, he opened his eyes slowly, drowsily, lifting his unnaturally heavy eyebrows and revealing Jeremiah’s favourite shade of brown. 

A faint smile appears on Jeremiah’s face, his pale eyes seemed to regain their human colour of sea blue for a moment as they lit up with excitement.

“My naughty boy, how long have you been awake?” He titters.

“Bold of you to speak of me this way. I woke up just now, Jeremiah, worry not I wasn’t listening to your sentimental monolog.” 

“How bold of you to assume that I’d have one. Now tell me, how are you feeling?” 

Bruce takes a nervous shaky breath, testing his frozen lungs. 

“Numb. Exhausted. Stiff.” By the unnaturally long pauses between Bruce’s words Jeremiah could tell that his brain was suffering a temporary damage, which was technically impossible since not a single medic would call him alive. 

“Mmm, do you remember anything of what happened before waking up?” 

Bruce tries to reach the depths of his mind where all the memories are stored. There are pieces of memories that seem rather unrelated, such as him sipping his morning drink, then suddenly Jeremiah’s fangs extracting, but the picture is quickly replaced with a memory from a few years ago in Wayne Enterprises. His mind feels like a miserable mess, full of unrecognisable voices and long forgotten images. 

“Barely. Nothing too concrete. A pinch in my neck followed by immobility and darkness. It’s hard to collect my thoughts, excuse me for ah…” Jeremiah presses his thumb to Bruce’s lips just as he did before drawing him into the state of unconsciousness, before sucking him dry. 

“Shhh, you did well. I don’t want to upset you, but we are not even nearly done. All you need to focus on right now is trusting me. I know how you saw me in your human eyes, glacial and heartless, but now you must rely on me and soon you will find that we are not so different in our hearts and it’s not only the lack of their movement.” Jeremiah winks, the tip of his lip lifting up. “There are things we must agree on. I understand how you are feeling, but in order for us to communicate we must go through some rules for it to be fluent and smooth. For example, it doesn’t matter how bad you feel about drinking blood, if I say you need to, you’ll do it. Can you?” 

Bruce frowns his eyebrows in disagreement. “Does that make me your marionette?”

“No, that makes you my responsibility for until you are able to take care of yourself, don’t be foolish my dear, it’s like leaving a 4 years old child in the street.” Jeremiah corrects Bruce, the hand that is not on his chest bringing the blood bag into his view. “B negative for your pleasure Mister Wayne, make sure to drop Ecco a thanks as it’s a luxury.” 

Proud and thrilled he hands Bruce his meal that he is not fascinated by at all, eying the redness as if he has never seen the colour.

“Relax, I didn’t bleed anyone, it’s from a credible donor that provides me their blood every few months willingly, I assure you no one got hurt for you to have a proper meal. Just please, hold it vertically like this while you do it, wouldn’t want to get my beautiful velvet stained, would we?” Jeremiah lifts the bag so that it’s in a safe position and removes the clamp, taking it in his hand and raising his eyebrow as an encouragement for Bruce to take a sip. 

He figured that the longer he’ll wait and try to guess the taste the sicker he’ll feel so he just sticks the straw in his mouth and pulls.

His mind is cleared out of all the thoughts as soon as the first sup trails down his throat into the dead stomach. Not only does it not taste like what usual blood from a cut does, its texture is different, thick, soft, smooth, almost like a half chewed bite. The taste is heavenly, pleasantly warming his insides. 

“From the expression on your face I see you are enjoying yourself. Good, for most it’s hard to get used to the bitter and irony taste at first but you don’t seem to have any problem. I expect you to ask about the frequency and quantity. Well, as for how often I can calm you down and say that with time you need blood less and less, but it will never be under 1 pint a week. How much? For now I’ll make sure you get two glasses every day since your body needs to recover. As dead as you are, the transformation isn’t yet done and you can’t let yourself weaken. Feeding, and I’m referring to _direct_ feeding as in directly from a person is necessary. Knowing your ah… heroic and pity personality I know this is something we’ll have to work on. Feed on the ones like me if you will, but you need the thrill. It’s a part of your meal and you’ll find yourself starving if you forget this important part.” Jeremiah explains, gesturing with his hands while keeping his eyes fixed on Bruce.

By the time he is finished talking the bag is half empty, Bruce raises his gaze.

“You talk of it as if it’s a diet. Am I allowed to eat eh… _normal_ food?”

Jeremiah laughs, “Yes, yes of course you are. It really does help us fit in in the society. But whenever you are not in public, add a few drops of blood in your sauce, I still enjoy my favourite Caesar salad with olive oil and a drop or two of blood. No need to add salt if you do so.” He shrugs.

“You talked about lust for blood, a burning need when we talked a while ago. Is there anything I can do to reduce it?”

“That’s something I’ve been trying to wrap my head around for a long time now. There will be certain people that you may feel dragging you towards them, like a magnet. Can’t really scientifically explain that but I learned from personal experience that there isn’t much you can do in such case. Telling them you want to suck their blood wouldn’t be exactly appropriate unless…” _Sip_. “Unless they won’t remember it. One of the most useful of your new abilities is this what I call _mind control_. Just a trick you can do with your eyes, another something you’ll learn when the time comes. Until then, even though it’s more than unlikely, don’t leave unfinished meals out in the streets, would you? Most of the time I’ll be nearby, but who knows what can come to your mind, huh?”

Bruce is listening carefully and as supernatural and unreal the words sound he accepts them, trying to keep his promise and trust Jeremiah. A few months ago he was out there torturing Alfred and look at where that got him.

“Fast heartbeats, touching the pulse point, quiet places with little noise where your advanced hearing will pick up a breath are triggering factors. It’s controllable but as a business man you should agree that leaving for a meeting with your stomach empty is simply risky.”

“Makes me feel like a beast.” Bruce speaks, his eyes fixed on one spot that was Jeremiah’s home clothes. The purple tank top that revealed his pale hands and comfortable, loose pants a shade or two lighter purple. 

“Ah ah ah, stop right there darling. I may be your maker but I’m not your parent. Be so nice and don’t start a war with me on what’s good and what’s bad. You are not a beast or monster or whatever other offending terms you have there in your head. You seem intelligent enough to me and you know I consider you an equal, even more so when we are both on the same page now. Don’t expect me to become all emotional when you start cursing your existence, you are beautiful and you always were.”

_Beautiful_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another unedited chapter with a ton of typos that I promise to correct later! PLEASE let me know what you think I highly appreciate it.


	3. Pleased to meet you (die.)

Bruce hands Jeremiah the plastic bag. 

“I don’t feel fully sated. Is it something I should worry about?” He asks, noticing that what the bag contained left him half hungry, his dead stomach growling.

Jeremiah smiles.

“No, nothing to be concerned about. What you just had could be compared to eating a stake without any side dishes, it’s good but something feels missing. Don’t worry, I’ll take you out for fun as soon as I can, seeing as we’ll still have to deal with Ecco here.” Jeremiah’s sounds as if disappointed and the bag already in the trash by the bed. 

“Is she in trouble?” Bruce frowns.

“No, but she isn’t exactly a fan of you being at our home. See, humans tend to overrate bad things and get jealous instead on focusing on the good things that would maybe help them live in peace. She’s in no trouble as long as her feelings don’t offend you.”

Bruce’s expression didn't change, however Jeremiah’s point of view didn’t seem adequate to him. 

“The only differences between us and humans are physical, Jeremiah. Right now the way I see it, you are the one making the fuss here, no?”

Jeremiah flinches away in disbelief, “Yes? Emotions only get in the way of reaching your goal as well as the people who cause them.”

“And yet you loved me as I was.” Bruce argues. Jeremiah not only come back to his previous position, but gets his face intimately close to Bruce’s so that he’d feel the chilly breath on his lips. As dead as Bruce was, his heart flipped in anticipation. 

“Loving you is my goal.” He presses a terribly unsatisfying kiss to Bruce’s lips, getting up from the bed and offering Bruce his hand. “Come, my dearest boy deserves better than frozen blood, wouldn’t you say?”

Bruce halts his movements as he clears his throat and asks anxiously, “We won’t kill anyone, will we?”

Jeremiah rolls his eyes, “No dummy, I already told you that we don’t shed blood for no reason. Barely a pull from a vein will bring your mind and stomach peace.” 

Unwillingly Bruce put his smaller hand into Jeremiah’s, letting him hold him from falling when his atrophied muscles almost immediately sent him down to the floor. It took a few timid steps to finally remember how to walk, still with Jeremiah by his side like a mother watching her own child with fascination and proudness. He made it down the long steep stairs, they were curved differently than in Bruce’s house, yet the place reminded him of his own. Jeremiah paid attention to details. Dark tones of red and blue that once were blindingly dark dominated in the hallway, even the roses seemed to be dyed to match the colour of the carpets. It surely wasn’t his place entirely, just an old abandoned building that he managed to bring back to life differently than the people that’d come here. 

“Don’t bother with dusting, I see?” Bruce commented sarcastically as he ran his fingers lightly over the cupboard in the hall. 

“I wish dust was my only concern, Bruce.” Jeremiah giggled, blowing the dust off Bruce’s fingers. His pale eyes dug into the boy’s, not a blink during the long pause that followed his words. Slowly his body leant forward for his lips to find Bruce’s and reward him with a soft kiss. No one could put so much passion into a single kiss as Jeremiah does. 

The almost warming smile he gave Bruce afterwards was quickly replaced by an annoyed grimace that he tried to hide when both heard a door slam in a distance. Bruce flinched and eyed Jeremiah, trying to predict his next move that remained unclear up until he clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, pressing his tongue onto his own fang as if to shut himself up. 

“Ecco dear!” He greats her, winking at Bruce as a sign to stay where he is while he rushed to his _dear Ecco_. 

Bruce turned his head to take a look at the woman, she was quite a few metres away and yet he could make out the details of her face, the small birthmark on her cheek, brown eyes just as his own’s. Her blond hair were blindingly bright, divine in this lightning, tied into a long brand that was nearly touching the ground. He tried to not stare suspiciously and bit his tongue nervously, feeling Jeremiah’s presence brush against his mind, commanding him to be quiet.

“How did that meeting go? Better than the last time, I hope?” Jeremiah inquired, placing a kiss on her cheek blushing cheek. Bruce felt her jealousness hovering over his nose, how uncomfortable she felt at the realisation that now those lips have rested on someone else’s cheek too. She avoided looking any farther than Jeremiah’s face.

She sighed, acting upset. “Really thought we’d manage without any victims this time but Cobblepot’s men are simply too arrogant.”

Jeremiah’s face turned into a stupid, surprised mess. “Indeed, they need to be taught a lesson, no one steals in my territory. It’s hard to believe that after I’ve caused all of this they think they can still deny me. Didn’t waste the blood, as always, I suppose?”

Bruce squirmed his feet, was it what he was thinking about?

Ecco nodded, gesturing at something that wasn’t in Bruce’s sight. She seemed to be purposely avoiding his gaze, refusing to look straight forward just a little bit above Jeremiah’s shoulder, ignoring his presence. He watched Jeremiah lean closer to her ear. 

“Be polite, please.” He asked, more nicely than Bruce ever heard before. Jeremiah’s whisper sounded as clear as any other words he’d speak straight to his face, it was scary. 

Bruce smiled, walking towards the two. He stretched out his hand, “It’s nice to meet you. I suppose you are Ecco?” He tried his best to not increase the tension that was already crushing his bones. 

Ecco didn’t rush into the handshake, but finally let her warm skin connect with Bruce’s and he had to pretend to not notice their temperatures difference, even when she visibly flinched. “Your suspicions might just be right, Mr. Wayne.” She said in her cold tone that she tried to brighten up but knew it’d sound too fake.

“Call me Bruce.” 

“Bruce.” She corrected herself. She avoided eye contact and instead looked at Bruce’s nose, studied its form. He could feel her heart flutter behind the thick layer of winder clothes, as brave as she looked he could sense the smaller unease, that irregular beating ruining the emotionless mask she wore. For a moment Bruce wondered if he’d see the same in Jeremiah if he could. 

“Glad you two get along. Bruce and I were just heading out for dinner, to take in a breath of fresh Gotham’s air and blood of the same sort.” Jeremiah waved around, showing the set of his sharp white teeth that were already picturing warm flesh under them, blood running freely as his victim would squirm in the firm grip of death. 

“Don’t we have anything at home?” Ecco asked, eying the two. 

“Hm, I suppose we _do_.” Jeremiah smacked back, hinting his annoyance at Ecco while she tried to stay upwards when Jeremiah’s voice rose at the last word. She shifted her weight on the other leg awkwardly, her tongue pressing into her palate as she tried to hold back something inappropriate. 

“Why wouldn’t you ask me?” She spoke finally. Bruce’s concerned gaze met Jeremiah’s. He sighed, almost angrily.

“Because, my dear, you don’t have to and I genuinely thought you’d refuse.” 

Funny how neither used the proper term for feeding, Jeremiah’s ‘fresh breath of air and blood’ was the closest yet. It made Bruce question the state of Ecco’s and Jeremiah’s relationship, Ecco looked ready to rip Jeremiah’s head off and the sound of his teeth grinding as his fangs, almost unnoticeably grew sharper.

“I could never deny you, Jeremiah.” Her voice quivered in such manner that touched the depths of Bruce’s soul. He found her loyalty beautiful, how her mind was screaming for Jeremiah. He saw pictures of her in Jeremiah’s arms, his tongue running in circles around the juicy vein in her neck before shades of red splatter and fill both’s minds. She wanted to be marked, told she is his, be trusted and needed. It was a sort of power that Jeremiah had that she wanted to make sure stayed where it was, she was scared of losing him. 

He felt sorry for the woman. A warm smile was really all he could give her right now.

“Jeremiah is right, you are not obliged to do so. Thank you for offering.” Ecco’s lips twitched at the way Bruce said _his_ name. How softly he pronounced the r, the accent on _miah_ , the pureness in his young tender voice. 

Jeremiah sighs, “Indeed. Hope to see you once we get back?”

“You will.” 

He almost pushes Bruce outside. 


	4. Drain them dry

Soft breeze tickles Bruce’s nose, his sharpened hearing picking up the muffled voices somewhere in the distance, the smell of gasoline and fresh blood whiffed from the abandoned old buildings all around the two. Jeremiah walked with his back straight, chin up as he enjoyed the view of the destruction he’s caused. His unnaturally pale skin shone almost as bright as the moon, glassy eyes reflecting the poorly organised bonfire that was left on its own to die away. He was peaceful, a less scary version of himself, lost in his own mind as if daydreaming.

“Have you ever been out at night, Bruce?” A modulated silvery voice approaches. 

Bruce chuckles softly as he kicks a stone off his path. “I have. Mostly with Selina.” 

The tips of Jeremiah’s wavy eyebrows touched when he frowned at the name. “Ah, _her_.” He said mockingly, “must be hard to lean into the beauty of it with someone like that. Her presence is highly disturbing, gives away nothing but pure distress and chaos. Much like my own deceased brother.” His voice remains as collected as before. “I can still pick up the stink of his madness in here.”

“You aren’t a saint yourself, Jeremiah. I didn’t need a special sixth sense to feel waves of arrogance pushing me away from you.” Bruce argues, pointing out something that Jeremiah was surprisingly quite shocked by.

“Arrogance? I’d say an earned appreciation for myself. Look at how little it took for me to succeeded, who else can say they did? Cobblepot? Barbara Kean? GCPD?”

Bruce took a moment to think about it. And in fact, up until now none of the mentioned really got what they wanted…. except for Jeremiah. Blow up the bridges? _Check_. Paralyse Selina? _Check_. Get attention? _Check_. Take Bruce’s heart? Che-

“I am quite literally responsible for that little heart of yours stopping just as I am for it being brought back to life so _check_ , Bruce.” He interrupts, grabbing Bruce by his coat sleeves and leaning into a hot, wet french kiss. Bruce didn’t get a chance to respond and was forced to go along with the flow when he felt Jeremiah’s saliva in his mouth, his fangs teasingly pinning his tongue down. “I get all I seek for.” He breathes in between them, air almost colder than the wind itself, making Bruce’s skin tingle. 

“You are a narcissist, Jeremiah.” Bruce whispers breathlessly. 

“Whatever you say, my love.” He runs his tongue over the other’s lips as to add more effect to the words. Sure, it was sarcastic but at least he didn’t continue the argument. A talk about his psychological health would be a long and quite pointless one as he’d reject any medical condition someone would like to diagnose him with. Worth a medal for being the sanest madman in the city.

They continued their stroll, passed by a lot of unknown, unnamed buildings that stunk like death and urine. Bruce figured they are quite far from home by now as the scenery changed completely. The streets got dirtier and dirtier as they walked, but the voices that once were far away now seemed to be getting closer. Only when Jeremiah took Bruce’s hand into his did it finally occur to him that what they were really looking for, was a victim. 

“Jeremiah, you promised we won’t kill, keep it that way-”

“Shh, I know what I said, Bruce. We’ll take just enough for you to get sated, but I can feel my own stomach growling. I can’t promise we’ll get two people and walk away unnoticed, might just drain one unlucky, _or_ lucky, depends on the circumstances, guy completely and do him a favour.”

Bruce yanks his hand away from Jeremiah angrily. “Favour? Is that a magical word to clear your consciousness after you suck them dry?”

Jeremiah stops walking, looking back at Bruce who stayed a few steps behind, digging his disagreeing eyes into his back. _God, this boy._

He quickly materialises by Bruce’s side, raising his hand to cup his face, suddenly his own turning into a puppy-like innocent expression. He sighs sharply. “Oh, Bruce. These people are starving, it won’t be long until they become food for each other. We can give them a quick, painless death that most would volunteer for.” He soothes, running his thumb up and down Bruce’s cheek to calm him down, Jeremiah, perfectly aware of his charm, knew he could make even the least attractive offer appealing

Bruce wanted to roll his eyes, turn around and leave, but not only wouldn’t he know where to go, he couldn’t deny the hunger, it would build up later. He didn’t know how much control he had over it, if it was manageable. 

“Please. Your consciousness is clear, I don’t expect the first one to be easy. I’ll take the last drops if you insist, I don’t want you to beat yourself later for it.” He asks softly. Bruce is hesitant at first but he tries to look at it as more of a necessity than an entertainment or lesson, which is what Jeremiah would call it. He knew that if it was anyone else but Jeremiah offering him this, he would never agree, but he didn’t find it in his heart to argue. There was simply no point, this step wasn’t something one could avoid now that he is who, _what_ , he is.

“Okay. You’ll do it. Don’t trick me into doing it myself, I don’t take responsibility for my actions if you do.” He warned Jeremiah. It only made him grin, the seriousness in Bruce’s voice was somehow funny and a little overacted but he wasn’t going to risk ruining this deal by being the total ass that he is.

Jeremiah advised to find a more quiet place, where no one would interfere with their business or question their presence here. Obviously someone would inquire about Jeremiah as he was infamously known around the whole city, his expensive bright clothes would draw attention immediately and that would only cause chaos that was the least they needed right now. No, they turned just around the corner, ending up in a narrow poorly paved street, a dark figure of a man lurking somewhere at the end of it. Jeremiah looked more predatory than ever, he commanded Bruce to follow hm behind while he worked his way towards the target in his refined elegant moves like a cat. The man’s hand reached into his pocket when he heard their steps, probably looking for something to defend himself with, but Jeremiah was quick to silence him before he got his weapon out, cupping his mouth with his large hand. 

When Bruce got closer he could take finally make out the details of the face. A middle aged slim man, unshaved beard, the height just as Jeremiah. Judging by his clothes he was local here, his eyes didn’t widen too much as he seemed to be used to the panic of being attacked. What did made his heart race, the sound of it filling Bruce’s ears, was the realisation that he couldn’t fight Jeremiah off, as much strength as he put, his hands reaching for Jeremiah’s throat, it was useless. He gave up as soon as Jeremiah revealed his inhuman teeth. 

He laughed playfully at the resistance. “Cute. It was worth a try.” He gets closer to the man’s face, as if trying to see if he can get him to recognise him.

“Jeremiah, stop, it’s humiliating.” Bruce pats his shoulder. “Let’s get on with it, please.” He suggests. He couldn’t help the fangs that were a natural reaction to the stimuli. The mixture of sweat and fear was weirdly enticing, the still quickening thumping in his ears pushed him towards the edge as did it Jeremiah. 

He buried his eyes in the man’s, his look soaking into and through him. “Don’t be afraid.” He spoke mesmerisingly, “It will only hurt for a second and then you’ll fall asleep more peacefully than ever in these past two months.” Jeremiah removed the pressure from his mouth, the man looked stunned, his body froze and he showed no signs of resistance, in fact, he looked rather willing to please Jeremiah and let him swallow him in one go. 

“Right here, Bruce. Target the carotid, it will be over before you know it.” He runs his fingertip over the artery, the warmness burning against his skin, erratic pulse waking up his instincts. 

Bruce complies, takes one step to close the gap between the man and himself. Even when he did, instead of looking down at Bruce he had his gaze fixed on Jeremiah, they held contact when Bruce turned his head slightly to the side too, giving himself more access. It was easy, finding the artery, as if he’s done this a million times before. He sniffed unintentionally before making contact with the skin beneath his lips, he felt Jeremiah’s hand touch his shoulder but it felt light as a feather compared to the pressure in his insides, his fangs aching for the blood. He buries them in the skin, penetrating the skin as a knife slicing through butter. The acute pain was met with a sharp gasp from the man that Jeremiah moaned at, it sounded rather inappropriate, as if he was turned on by the scene. 

Bruce pulled, sucked in just as he did from the bag. The blood almost burned his throat as he swallowed, he flicked out his tongue so fast to get more, he didn’t notice the sudden growl that escaped his lips, muffled by the skin he pressed his face into. The divine sensation drew him into a state of hypnosis, where all that existed was the bitter irony taste and the beating of his victim’s heart, refusing to slow down.

Jeremiah made sure Bruce was enjoying himself before biting down on the other side of the neck. At this point Bruce had already drained a pint and Jeremiah had to keep pace of the heart to make sure Bruce pulls away in time. He heard his growls, moans, much like the ones when he was in the position of the victim. That was a level of sadomasochism. 

_Boom, boom, boom…_ It goes slower and slower, turning into a silent song that got distorted with time. Jeremiah stopped, sensing the unconsciousness. 

“Bruce, darling, this is it.” He wraps his hands around Bruce’s waist. “Stop now, my boy, he’s dying.” He speaks softly in Bruce’s ear, running his fingers through the brown curls.

Jeremiah’s words felt merely like a tickle, Bruce couldn’t exactly tell what was being said nor did he care. He kept drinking, ignoring the slowing flow of blood and the sound of the pounding vanishing. He would have kept going and would finish what he started completely if not for Jeremiah’s hand around his throat that managed to pull him away.

“I said, _enough_.” He repeated. “You don’t want to kill him, _do you_?”

“ _I do_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In conclusion, Jeremiah is evil and Bruce can't resist it.


	5. Enjoy the silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put the lyrics of Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the silence" to Jeremiah's dialogue, so give it a listen and enjoy!

“I said, enough.” Jeremiah repeated. “You don’t want to kill him, do you?”

“I do.”

Bruce’s words echoed in his head. Again and again, I do… A different voice, much like his own, argued and begged for him to stop. It took the boy a moment or two to register the plead that left his victim’s lips before the weakening body slides down, his square shaped chin touches the chest that’s barely lifting anymore, revealing the bleeding wound to the person who made it.

“He isn’t dead yet.” Bruce murmurs under his breath. Hope sparkled in his voice, he thought he could still save the man, bring him back.

“No, but he will be soon. You are a good boy, let’s go before we get ourselves into trouble.” Jeremiah takes Bruce’s hand harshly, dragging him around the corner, right where they came from. Bruce squirmed.

“Let go of me!” He breaks free of the hold, turning around and heading a different direction, away from Jeremiah who immediately started chasing.

“Drop that attitude right now, Bruce!” They passed the lifeless body, Jeremiah emotionlessly kicking it out of his way. He reached for his lover once more, this time using his inhuman strength to hold Bruce’s attention. His long hand wraps around Bruce’s body, squeezing his shoulder firmly as he places a kiss to his earlobe. “What are you running from? All you ever wanted, all you ever needed is here, in your arms…” He hums. With yet another useless squirm Bruce opens his mouth to say something, but the words get locked in his throat when Jeremiah’s hand covers it softly. “Words are unnecessary. I can feel the flurry in your mind, the storm, it’s beautiful. You feel too much and it drags you down. Let me guide you down the path of peace.” He speaks softly, the tickle of his lips against Bruce’s ear nearly drawing out an unwanted giggle from him.

As Jeremiah’s hold against Bruce’s mouth loosens, he speaks, “Yes. This peace, lack of movement, this… death, that’s all you will ever be able to give me. It’s just what you are.”

Jeremiah startles for a moment, as if Bruce’s words touched his non existing soul, awakening a shredded piece of the old Jeremiah that was suffocating within his dark cloudy mind. His fake eyebrows touch, forming a wave.

“What we are, Bruce. You are still in denial of our connection, can’t you feel it? Must you be so stubborn? If it were anyone but you I would say you are being silly.” He says mockingly.

“Perhaps then I am not what you need, Jeremiah. You are a lost, lonely soul, looking for a companion to fill your emptiness and uselessness. But I am not the answer, maybe you should elate Ecco and give her what she desires.” Like a dagger to Jeremiah’s frozen heart Bruce spells out every word clearly, confidently. He wasn’t able to see Jeremiah’s face with him behind, but he didn’t need to. He felt the hold around his shoulders and chest loosen, Jeremiah’s hands dropped by his sides. Bruce resisted the temptation took look the man in the eye, see if there is anything more than the paleness, but was scared to be left disappointed. Sure of what he was doing, he slowly walked away, the tall figure was swallowed by darkness and Bruce vanished.

“You will come back.”  
______________________

It may have been hours, days since Bruce left but they felt like solid years to someone who waited. The wine was tasteless, food sickened him, even the lust for blood disappeared. Jeremiah wasn’t known to be sentimental, nor getting attached to anything or… anyone. After all, most of his life he spent away from his parents, in a different family, different home. He calls this “the gift of destiny”, but really, the lies of a 6 years old boy did more to his life than his honest and hard work ever would. He took credit for it and saw himself as superior, rather than feeling guilty for leaving irreparable scars in his brother’s life. One must survive.

Jeremiah could find Bruce without putting too much effort, but a part of him wanted to give the boy some space to breathe and think. He must not trap him, keep him against his will. The change is a more difficult process than human’s puberty years, which take 4…. 6 years, and the change is a week of a whole new, unknown world, weak ones might break and even die before embracing their new nature fully.

“Jeremiah?” A knock to his door, Ecco’s low voice approaching.

Jeremiah clears his throat when his thoughts get interrupted, “Yes dear, come in.”

The door opens just to reveal Ecco’s usual straight face furrowed in anxiety and worry. She eyes his long body laid on the red velvet featherbed, fingers scissored with his hands behind his head.

“I thought I’d ask how you are doing. You haven’t… fed for a while and it might only make the wait feel longer. Let me help you?” The woman’s voice soft like silk, soothing and relaxing. Jeremiah couldn’t deny her words, he was hungry, just like humans tend to associate hunger with negativity, vampires do too.

He raises from his position and seats himself by Ecco’s side. “I appreciate your concern, Ecco. But like you said, I haven’t fed for a while, my eh- apettite might be too great not to hurt you.” He knew there was more than just concern behind her intentions. Her selfishness would be satisfied if she knew he fed from her rather than anyone else.

“Jeremiah, you know you can have me however you want.” _You are slipping._

Jeremiah giggles at the honesty in her words. Humans. But who was he to forbid her this perfect opportunity of getting pleased?

“I know.” He brushes his fingertips against the soft skin of her neck, the pace of her pulse picking up as she leans her head back to give Jeremiah more access. Jeremiah can smell the aroma of her arousal, oh how naive and beautiful she was. Anything for him, even if the task is lethal, it’s all for Jeremiah.

He ran his fangs along her trachea, just how she likes it. A suppressed high pitched moan escaped her lips when Jeremiah pressed down hard, penetrating the s0ft layer. Her youth and power gushed to his mouth, heartbeat hitting the peek. As he held her head with his one hand, he placed the other on her chest, almost slipping out of his placid attitude and letting out a monstrous groan himself.

She fought off the weakness and nausea as the effects of blood loss started kicking in. Her arm wrapped around Jeremiah’s back for support, she felt herself losing balance and almost falling off the bed. Jeremiah did not slow down as he usually does, a jolt of fear ran down her whole body, down to her legs, fingertips that started feeling numb. A soft pad on his shoulder blade was all she gave Jeremiah as a sign to stop.

“J…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The outfit Jeremiah is wearing in this one is the one from episode 5 promo, where I believe he is laid after his death. Anyway, this is a shorter chapter, but I hope you enjoyed! Leave feedback <3


	6. Pools of blood

The night is always the same. There is only one shade of black, after all. Soon the sun will rise, Bruce can hear the echoing cawing of crows, as they rustle in the trees. The view is apocalyptic. The only sign of humans existence is the wet coughs of diseased, dying homeless people in a distance. The smell remained the same urine sort all throughout the way, the stink that reminded him of his ability to hold a breath for longer. 

His thoughts revolved around Jeremiah. Despite the hatred he felt towards the man, the deep wounds he left in his heart, a kind of sympathy that he couldn’t deny was there. Of both, spiritual and sexual sort. Bruce never questioned or thought about his feelings towards men or women, never thought of a long time connection with either, but something inside Jeremiah was magnetic. Even if Bruce wanted to get away, all the paths would lead him back to Jeremiah’s open arms. He had a firm hold around Bruce’s heart that he could not escape, tainted his soul and body with his poison that had no antidote. Tainted him with murder. There was blood on Bruce’s hands, blood _inside_ him, around him. And now it _is_ him. 

Bruce did not worry his head about where he was going at all, trusting his intuition to lead him out of this miserable place to a less miserable one. If there was anything than that left in Gotham.

The sun shone above the tall roofs, dawn finally marking a new, but not any less harder day. Noise level suddenly increased as more people came out from their hideouts, meeting the sun with a renewed hope of a better today. 

Witnessing the _beauty_ of the destruction and poverty, hunger at it’s finest, Bruce reconsidered Jeremiah’s words about doing a favour to their victims. Maybe he was right. Perhaps some were made to bring death to those who need it, everyone’s time would come sooner or later, the variety of different ways to get executed in Gotham is wider than the choice of food in menus, maybe being bled to death isn’t that bad after all. 

As Bruce walked he started recognising his surroundings more and more. The roofs became lower, abandoned skyscrapers and the stink stayed behind. _Does that mean-_

He’s almost home.

___________________

“Ecco dear?” 

No response. 

“Open your eyes darling, here…” Jeremiah soothes, studying Ecco’s fluttering eyelashes when after 6 unsuccessful attempts of waking the woman she finally regains consciousness. 

“Jere…miah-” She attempts to speak, but Jeremiah is quick to shush her, holding up a glass of water in front of her face. Gently, he raises her head, helping to sit up.

“Shh, here, have some water.” 

“What happened?” She sips, tensing her face muscles as she tries to put pieces of her memories together. Jeremiah ran his fingers through the blonde silky hair, his thumb resting on her warm temple.

“You passed out from blood loss. I took more than usual, I should have stopped before it went too far. My apologies.”

Ecco’s cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink as Jeremiah’s soft tone soothed her, so calming and mesmerising. However, it wasn’t too different than what Jeremiah spoke like before putting her to sleep. _Bruce_.

“He is not back, is he?” She asks, the sound distorted as she speaks through her clenched teeth with a slight tone of annoyance. 

Jeremiah’s face expression doesn’t change apart from the lip which he lets to twitch as the thought of Bruce’s dark eyes looking at his instead of Ecco’s blue ones breaks the emotionless act. “Bruce is not back, no.” He murmurs. 

“Jeremiah, I can see you are suffering. You feel nothing but pain and heartache. Summon him. I know you can.”

“I can.” He murmurs under his breath sadly, almost as if considering the idea, “But I don’t want to. The boy is stubborn in nature, a warrior. I can’t restrict him like this and go against who he is. That would be cruel. No, he must test his limits and I can’t stand in his way, can I?”

There is something of a suspicion in Ecco’s look. Jeremiah’s plan was to manipulate Bruce into overstepping his boundaries, let him loose control which Jeremiah would later be the one to help him regain. And all of this he considered to be coming from a place of love, his heart that only beats for his boy, oh it sings with desire to sink into his chocolate hair, feel his hands tremble in agitation when Jeremiah’s tongue parts his lips so that it could slip inside and kiss him passionately as if they were long time lovers. They will be. Soon.

“So what do we do now?” Ecco asks.

“We wait.”

_______________

The dew glistens, Bruce can feel the sun warming his cheek as he uses a secret entrance to sneak into his own property. 

All the sleepless nights with Selina in the hospital on the uncomfortable couches, Bruce almost forgot what a good rest feels like, the scent of his very own home and bed, soft sheets and Alfred’s breakfast tea. The lazy schedules, life with no responsibilities. When it was at its best and what it will never be like again. 

_Knock knock_.

“Alfred?!” Bruce calls for his manservant as he repeatedly bangs the door with his fist. Like a complete idiot he finally realises that there is no living soul inside and the door isn’t locked either. 

The view inside is rather gloomy. Dust dances in the air that stenches in ashes, flowers withered and forgotten. The subtile sound of petals falling to the floor tickles Bruce’s ears. 

There is a started but unfinished cup of coffee in the kitchen. Suspicious, Bruce checks if the liquid is warm and is genuinely surprised when the cup almost burns his hand. His instincts immediately lit up and he reached for a kitchen knife. _Silly, you are immortal_.

Cautiously Bruce searches the house for another presence, there was no other logical explanation as to who could be the mysterious guest other than Alfred, if the door wasn’t broken then someone with they key must have left them unlocked. 

Bruce curses out loud when he feels himself step into something wet. He squats down to expect the liquid and his reaction quickly switches from anger to pure terror when a red, thick textured liquid stains his hand. The divine scent sent him into a certain state of mind, unconsciously, as if being pushed by an invisible force he follows the warm river of blood, his knees on the ground, redness sinking into his clothes as on his fours he crawls towards the couch in the living room. 

_Boom boom_ , something hits faintly in an irregular rhythm, louder and louder with every step. The drum and steam of blood finally leads him to the source. 

Bruce’s weak heart flips, a loud gurgling noise escaping his throat when he sees his very own _father_ laid still on the carpet sunken in blood, the motionless figure pale almost like the death itself. Desperate and helpless, Bruce screams in both agony and effort of resisting his nature to bury his face in the hole in Alfred’s stomach that blood gushed from, suck all the life that’s left and feed like the animal inside wants him to. 

_The_ night flashed in mind, that same feeling of terror and fear taking over his mind when his already bloody hands press on the wound pathetically and pointlessly trying to stop the flow. He called for God countless times before realising what his only hope is. _God_.

“ _Jeremiah_!” He screams. 

 

_Jeremiah, please, I need you…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little heartbreaking. I'm hurt myself, you know.

**Author's Note:**

> Well it was a ride... Hope you enjoyed and wait for the next chapter, feel free to speak your mind in the comments and I wouldn't mind to hear what you'd like to see next, even though I already have so many ideas! Thanks for your support and kudos.


End file.
